


Tempered Steel

by RyloKen



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Also A Bitch, Biting, Breeding, But He's Not Her Mate, Danse Has No Time For Anyones Shit, Establishing Territory, F/M, Fighting, Finger Fucking, Haylen Is The Salt Queen, Heats, Knotting, Making Alphas Earn It, Mates, Maxson Has No Time For Her Shit Though, Maxson Is The Alpha of Alphas, Mostly Equal Amounts Of Both, No Time For Weak Steel, Not On His Ship, Or Weak Alphas, Plorn?, Plot With Porn, Reagan Belongs To N3kkra, Scent Marking, Size Difference, Squirting, Think Tigers Instead Of Wolves, this is porn, with plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10134611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyloKen/pseuds/RyloKen
Summary: Knight Reagan Knight has never had any problems with her heats. They came on, the ache gets bad, she pops some Heat-Ease and she beats some over-enthusiastic Alphas into the floor.It was simple, it was textbook.And then it wasn't.With no Heat-Ease in sight, Reagan's heat hits like a Deathclaw and leaves her just as hostile. She has no time for weak Steel or weak Alpha's, and she's not going to accept anything from anyone that hasn't earned it. This, of course, makes living on the Prydwen a whole new circle of Hell, for her and everyone else.Lucky for her, Arthur takes the welfare of his soldiers seriously. And while reassigning her to the Cambridge Police Station seems more like a punishment than anything else, she'll quickly come to see the wisdom in his choice.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [N3kkra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/N3kkra/gifts).



> I don't own Knight Reagan Knight (Almost typed Danse, oops?), she belongs to the lovely N3kkra. I'm just borrowing her because reasons. Mostly porn reasons. Actually I don't even remember why I'm borrowing her, just that I am.
> 
> This'll be a short story, probably no more than five chapters (fingers crossed as she hides from her own OC's) because I felt it would end up too long for a one-shot and I don't want to land myself writing a slow-burn with characters that aren't even mine hahaaha /dissolves into mournful tears/ I will write for my own characters, I swear.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, N3kkra, and I hope I do your characters justice!
> 
> For those curious, N3kkra drew an awesome picture of Reagan that can be found here: https://68.media.tumblr.com/125ede871936b56ec1fae214194b2386/tumblr_omdqk0JyPB1rgxrggo1_1280.png

Reagan Knight hated what she was.

Sure, she accepted it, hell, she even embraced it most days, but when that burn settled low in her belly, when her fingertips tingled and her scalp ached for the rough of a hand in her hair; when the very Brothers that had sworn to protect her, to fight at her back, her side, turned heated gazes her way and inhaled sharply with interested growls?

Reagan Knight cursed the day she was born an Omega.

She shook the ache from her hand, turned her back on the Lancer laid out behind her. The fifth of the day and a cocky son of a bitch with too shiny eyes and a shit eating grin. He’d ran a hand over her hip, leaned in close to inhale the scent at her throat and swallowed three teeth on his way to the ground.

She was done with the bullshit, with the weak Steel that walked around her masquerading as Alpha. He’d stunk of mentats beneath the sweat, his face that of a spoiled child beneath a sweep of too red hair. The blonde from breakfast had stunk of _ghoul_ and sported teeth as black as night, and the bald guy from who-knows-where had been all around too fucking thin, too fucking short, and _too fucking everything wrong_.

She didn’t even want to remember the other two.

She huffed, shoved her hair from her face and stormed through the halls. Her skin itched beneath her flight suit, the sweat pooling in places she didn’t want sweat to pool making things more than a little uncomfortable. She turned a corner, looked up at the smell of cigarettes and wine, and locked eyes with a rapidly brightening alpha. His eyes grew glassy, his attention instantly leaving the group of friends he sat with. She watched him size her up, watched his shoulders settle back, his chin rise, and snarled right at him.

Fucking _Alphas_.

She didn’t wait around for his attempt, turned away and stormed towards the showers. She found them all but completely empty, and when the beta in the corner noticed her, scented the air and ran with his hand over his nose and his eyes averted, she was finally alone.

The flight suit, soaked through and sticking to every part of her, protested the rough treatment, the push and pull as she yanked it from her arms, her hips, kicked it clean across the room as she drowned herself in cold water.

It soothed the ache, calmed the fire that raged in her belly, behind her eyes and between her thighs.

She blamed Haylen, that bouncy little beta with her happy smile and her can-do attitude.

“ _We should help these settlers_ ,” she grumbled in a high-pitched imitation of the scribe. She spat water at her feet and glared at the wall, flexed her fingers against the cool metal and tried not to think of the broad back she wanted to sink her nails into.

She scoffed, grabbed a bar of soap from the tray and rubbed it roughly over her stomach, between her breasts and down her arms. Her glare never eased, that heat returning the more she raged, the more she thought, the more she fucking remembered.

“ _It’s only Heat-Ease, and they need it more than we do._ ”

She dug her fingertips into the soap, her gums joining the ache in her body as she clenched her teeth and tried to remind herself that killing a fellow Sister of the Brotherhood was frowned upon.

The smirk Haylen had given her, topped with a condescending eye-roll, replayed in her mind and she snarled, whipped around and hurled the soap across the room.

It hit a wall of Brotherhood issue power armor with a muted thump, fell to the floor and skidded into the corner to the left of the intruding soldier. Reagan growled, a deep and vicious warning, and straightened her spine, squared her shoulders for a fight.

The soldier looked her over for a long moment, gaze hidden behind a helmet, before they turned and walked away. The door closed behind them with a click, their heavy footfalls fading until all Reagan could hear was the water on her back and the rush of her own blood in her ears.

She exhaled, rocked her head from side to side and relished the pop in her neck, the crack of her spine as she twisted and rolled her shoulders. She turned back to the shower, stepped under the spray and tilted her face up to the stream.

The coil of heat in her belly was like a pit of writhing snakes, the need a tangible ache that left her knees weak and her thighs wet from more than just water.

Reagan snatched up more soap, scrubbed it over her thighs and scowled at the slick that coated her fingers, that sent her heart-rate sky high and left her dazed as she lost breath, lost time. She planted her hand on the wall to steady herself, let the soap slip to the floor between her feet as she mewled and curled her fingers, rubbed purposed circles over herself.

She felt the heat of another at her back before she heard him, came back to herself with the smell of cigars and pure man in her nose. It set the snakes in her belly roiling, boiled her over as she whipped around and raised the hand that was just at her cunt and made to punch the alpha behind her.

He caught her, wrapped his massive hand around her wrist and met her snarl with one of his own.

It shouldn’t have burned so good the way everything in her unraveled and soothed.

“Lay those other idiots out all you want, but I’m a fight you won’t win, Knight,” he stated, his tone uncompromising and full of all the power his rank and title owed him.

She met his gaze, a war of Steel-forged blue against rapidly heating honey-gold. Her breath left her and she let her eyes close, let her head tilt as she submitted and let her fist go lax in his grasp.

There was nothing between them for several minutes, no sound but for the water spilling lazily from the head above her. When she finally dared to look up – had he always been so tall? – she found him staring her down, his eyes hot beneath his scowling brows.

“Tell me why, exactly, you feel the need to walk around the Prydwen when you’re so very clearly on the edge of Heat?”

She met his glare and snorted, “for shits and fucking giggles, Sir.”

He took a step closer, crowded her against the wall and tightened his hold on her wrist. He ignored the water that showered his battle coat, kept his eyes trained on hers as if he could read her mind – and who knew, maybe he could.

“Cut the crap, soldier,” he snarled, his rage kept at bay by the strength of his will alone. “And answer the question.”

Reagan lifted her chin, the fight refusing to go out of her even when faced with that famous Maxson scowl. As if anticipating more sarcasm, more bullshit, he stepped even closer, stepped right up to her and didn’t stop until her breasts were pressed firmly against the wide expanse of his coat covered chest.

Reagan hated that her knees threatened to buckle, hated that heat roiled low in her belly and turned to slick that left her core wet and her thighs glistening.

He inhaled sharply, his pupils expanding until the blue of his gaze was nothing but a ring of barely contained lust. She whimpered when his fingers dug into the flesh of her wrist, and as her body bowed closer, he held on all the tighter.

“Answer the _fucking question_ , Knight.”

She keened, a low and miserable sound that turned hot when he gripped her jaw with his free hand and lifted her face to him. He inhaled, slow and deliberate, and let her know he was doing it. She buckled, and couldn’t bring herself to hate herself when he caught her, when he pulled her against him and moved the hand from her throat to the small of her back.

His touch was inferno hot, and it burned her in all the right ways, in all the right places. She pushed up onto her toes, pressed against him and shared his breath. He held her there, ran his eyes over her face as a low and possessive growl startled a rumble in the wall of his chest. He bit at her lips, at her chin, nipped at her jaw and worked down to her throat. When she arched away, curiosity instead of denial, that rumble grew louder, those nips turned harsher and he left his mark low on her throat.

It weakened her, turned her to melted Steel in his arms as the rough of his beard scratched at her oversensitive flesh, as the hand at her lower back dropped even lower until he grabbed a handful of her ass and dragged her off her feet and into a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than anything else.

She clung to him with her free hand, moaned into his mouth as he took and gave, as he licked into her mouth and left behind the taste of cedar smoke and clean whiskey. The hand on her ass shifted, dragged down to her thigh where he dug his fingers in and hiked her higher, lifted her effortlessly and encouraged her to spread her thighs.

Reagan wrapped around him the best she could, hooked her knees over his hips and used her hard-earned muscles to keep herself close, in place. He pulled away from the kiss, kept her gaze as he lifted her hand to his mouth and ran his tongue over the fingers she’d had buried inside of herself.

She shivered, arched her hips against him and let her head fall back against the wall as he wrapped his lips around those fingers and sucked. Slumping against the metal at her spine, Reagan dropped her free hand from his shoulder, lifted it instead to her breast. She mewled as she palmed her chest, gasped as she pinched and rolled the dusky nipple.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her mind hazed over by the feel of his tongue on her skin, the sound of his growl in her ears. She was brought out of it by his hand on her throat, his thumb brushing back and forth over the hinge of her jaw. When she met his eyes, she mewled, arched her hips against his and shuddered – this was what a true Alpha looked like.

“Answer my question, _Knight_ , and I might give you some of the relief you so desperately need.”

Reagan shivered and bucked her hips again, let her eyes roll closed when her movements were stilled and the hand on her throat tightened. She was a panting wreck, an omega into her heat and offering him up the chance to claim her, and he held firm and kept his calm. He had more control than she’d ever seen before and it coiled something hot in her core.

Arthur Maxson was the Alpha of Alphas for a reason, and now she knew why.

“Arthur,” she whimpered, lifted a hand to grab a fistful of his beard to hold onto, to pull and stroke and keep herself grounded.

He snarled at that, shook her hand free and pinned it above her head, then joined it with the other. Her chest was bowed towards him, her tits offered up, and she pushed into it, pressed them higher and whined.

The burn under her skin grew when he looked, when his eyes lingered, when that rumbling in his chest grew deeper.

“Please,” she whispered, choked on the begging tone and tightened her thighs on either side of his hips.

He looked up to her, kept her gaze as he trailed a thick finger from her throat to her chest. She held her breath, expected him to touch, to grip, but his hand continued south, continued teasing. She made to look, made to watch, but the snarl he gave had her quickly looking up, had her holding his gaze as he placed that hand on her belly and spread his fingers.

“Beg all you want, Reagan, but I’ll not breed you.”

She wailed and growled, made to snatch her hands from his singular grasp so she could hit and scratch. He tightened his grip, pressed her closer to the wall until her breath left her, and then he waited for her rage to calm.

When she looked at him next, his thick and scarred brow was arched, his question unasked, unanswered. She exhaled hotly and looked to the side, “There was no more Heat-Ease.”

“Impossible.”

Reagan snarled at that, affronted by his tone, “The stores we had were given to those fucking settlers we ran into two weeks ago. An order was put in for more but it won’t get here to help me.”

“Who gave that order?”

“A fucking beta scribe who doesn’t give two shits about what’ll happen to us unless it directly affects her, and this doesn’t.”

Arthur lifted both brows at the bitterness in her tone, the look on her face, and shook his head, “I want a name, Reagan.”

“What difference does it make? It does me no fucking good. Now if you’re not going to fuck me, get the fuck out so I can do it myself.”

The hand on her belly pressed her harder against the wall, held her firm when she tried to leave. She met his eyes and held them, then shivered when he smirked.

“Like I said, I’ll not breed you,” he started, his words low and rough and full of promise. He leaned closer, nipped at her jaw as he slipped his hand down and turned it, “but I will make you scream.”

She choked on her breath when his fingers slipped into her, two at once and thick, quick to curl and stroke and twist. Her hands became clenching fists above her head, her eyes rolling closed as she arched into him and moaned.

Each stroke was practiced and precise, seeking and searching and made to send her higher rather than tease. As a Maxson, he couldn’t take casual lovers, couldn’t bed who he wanted and when. But he fucked her with his fingers like a man well versed, slipped a third finger in to stretch and burn as his thumb took to her clit and pressed, circled.

Reagan cried out, shook as he curled his fingers just so and pressed back towards himself. Her spine tingled, her eyes blinded as she came against his palm, clenched down on his fingers and bucked as he continued stoking that fire. She jolted, all but convulsed against him when he drove his fingers deeper, when he gripped bruises into her wrists and crowded her.

It felt as if her mind had been singed, her skin too sensitive as he drove her headlong into an orgasm that didn’t wait for the first to end. She keened and gasped, wiggled in his hold and burned hot as he worked her clit until everything below her hips throbbed.

She spilled over, let her body drop as her hearing left her and she lost herself in the way he drained the ache from her bones, from her _soul_.

“A-rthur,” she wailed, hiccuped and giggled as he dragged his fingers free of her, and drove them back in deep. It stole her breath, stole her sanity, and when he nipped at her breast, when he curled his fingers again and rubbed that ridged wall inside of her, she screamed and fell into the void of bliss.

She came to shaking, came to sated and warm but soothed of that ever-present _need_. Arthur had his hand on her thigh, had his eyes on her as she looked up to him and smiled. He met it, grinned beneath his beard and lifted his brow.

“Better?”

“How’d you do that? I never feel this good after an orgasm,” she stretched, mewled at the way her body melted under his gaze.

His grin deepened, that scar-marred brow arching cockily, “amazing what a difference squirting makes, huh?”

Reagan froze, looked his face over to find the joke but everything about him was satisfied and true. She looked down the line of her body and noted the sheen of sweat on her chest, the shine of it on her belly. Then she saw the dripping wet of her, the darkened stain of his flight suit, and shivered.

He kept her against the wall as she pulled herself together, and helped her keep her feet when he let her touch the ground. Her knees felt weak in a way she could grow addicted to, and the aches in her body seemed lost behind the wave of _good_ that washed over her.

Arthur straightened his battle coat and waited for her to meet his eyes, “I want you to file a report on what happened to the Heat-Ease. You’re not the only Omega we have on the Prydwen and this situation could have untold consequences for your kind and mine. I won’t have anyone, Alpha or Omega, put in a position where they no longer feel safe or in control of their nature. And just to be clear, that’s not a request.”

“Sir, after what you just did, I’ll do whatever you want with a smile on my face.”

His eyes glittered with the amusement he wouldn’t allow himself to express, “be that as it may, I want that report as soon as possible. You’re to bring it to me personally, immediately upon completion. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good,” he nodded, then tipped her face high with his fingers under her chin. She held her breath, held his gaze, and smiled back when he grinned at her. “You’ll put up one hell of a fight when you actually find your mate.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, “yeah okay.”

“You doubt me? You shouldn’t.”

“I didn’t fight you, did I?”

“I’m not your mate, Reagan,” he smirked and shook his head, dropped his hand from her face and stepped from her personal space. “Get dressed, and get that report to me within the hour.”

She lifted her fist to her naked chest and saluted, and then flushed when Arthur lifted a brow at her questioningly. “Ahem…Ad Victoriam, sir?”

Arthur did laugh now, a low and husky thing that she could barely make out, but it was there. He returned the salute, returned the mantra and then left her in the showers alone. She waited for the door to click closed, waited for his footsteps to fade, and when she could no longer hear him close, she melted to the floor with a sated sigh and remained there until the feeling finally returned to her body.


End file.
